A Successful Experiment

"I don't know what you think," said Greg, feeling a bit frustrated. "I know what's actually true, and it's what I've told you. I'm not really much of a runner, normally."

"Uh huh," Rosita said. She was kind enough not to roll her eyes, but it was in her voice. Then she brightened. "Well, whatever you say, I think you're a good runner. We should do this again sometime. You up for a rematch sometime?"

"Sure," Greg replied. They exchanged phone numbers, and went their separate ways. He walked back towards campus, reveling in the fact that he'd just run for miles and miles without getting exhausted. Was it the air in this town that made him so good at running? Or was it just that he was all on his own, now?

Day 7

"Dr. Parsons," said Michelle, preceding Greg. "Your two o'clock is here." She avoided his eyes, and Greg didn't understand why. When he'd come in, she'd seemed annoyed to see him, even though she should've known that he was coming in.

Perhaps it was how much Greg had changed in the last week. Michelle was still dumpy, without even a trace of a figure. If anything, she might've gotten fatter in the past seven days.

Greg, on the other hand, had shed about twenty pounds of weight, and put on at least as much muscle. He'd kept up the running, and gone even further than that. Yesterday, he'd decided to take advantage of the university's fitness facilities. The gym was well-equipped with weights, so he'd done some experimental lifting.

The small weights he'd started out with had been completely insufficient. So he'd gone through the rack, one by one, until he found the 100 pound weights. Those had given him a nice brisk exercise, without being overpowering. Once he'd worked up a little sweat, he'd moved on up again, until he reached the monstrous 200 pound weights. Those had seemed impossible to lift when he looked at them, but once he'd put his hands around them, they'd turned out to be not as heavy as he'd expected.

His exercise regimen had gone from nonexistent to insane this week. When he woke up at 5 in the morning (much earlier than usual), he did 200 push-ups and 200 crunches, before going on a ten mile run. Originally, he'd thought that if he worked off some of his energy, he'd be able to sit down and do some work. But the more he'd worked out, the more restless he'd become.

And that wasn't actually the weirdest part of his week. Greg was 24 years old, which meant that he was done growing. He'd leveled off at slightly higher than the average male height, and that wasn't too bad. There were taller people on his Dad's side of the family, but he'd always taken after his Mom in a lot of ways.

Yet over the past week, he'd grown four inches. He'd figured out that something was going on a couple days ago, on Thursday. That was the day when he'd nearly bumped his head on the door, going out to run. Either he was growing, or his room was shrinking, and Greg wasn't sure which was more implausible.

"Hello, Greg," said Dr. Parsons. A petite brunette with thick, wide glasses was leaving the office as Michelle and Greg entered. "It's good to see you again. How have you been doing?"

Michelle left the room before Greg could reply. There was something very odd about her. Greg could hear her and the brunette talking a bit behind him, but he ignored them.

"A bit... uh, oddly, Dr. Parsons," Greg replied. He sat down carefully in the chair in front of the desk. "I've been taking them, like I'm supposed to. But I've been feeling a bit weird this whole week."

"Weird how?" Dr. Parsons said. She frowned slightly. "Changing colors? Growing extra hands?"

"Uh, well..." Greg began. He explained what had transpired with his new routine. He described how much exercising he'd done, and what the results had been. He pulled out a measuring tape and showed her his new height.

She sat through his whole explanation with a serene expression. When he finished, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Has it occurred to you that there are alternate explanations for all of what you described? Trimizapam does not make you grow taller or get bigger muscles."

"But a growth spurt? At 24? Four inches in seven days? How does that make any sense?" Greg asked. He had the sneaking suspicion that Dr. Parsons was not taking him very seriously.

"Growth spurts have been documented, under some circumstances, in young adults, such as yourself," Dr. Parsons informed him. "And how long has it been since you measured your height? It could've been taking place over years, and you've just now noticed it."

"But the exercising? I haven't lifted a weight since I finished P.E. in my sophomore year of high school. Then all of a sudden, I'm throwing around 200 pound barbells like they're nothing. And running! I walk places, Dr. Parsons. Even when I was an energetic little kid, I hated running. Now I'm going out for ten miles every morning, like it's no big deal!" Greg let his frustrations out and thumped a fist against Dr. Parsons' desk.

With a crunch, the desk cracked, and the two of them stared at it for a second. Then Greg recovered. "See? I've never been able to do that. Never! Ask me to punch a desk before this week, and I'd have nothing but a sore fist to show for it. Now I punch a desk and it splits apart! What the hell is happening to me?"

"Settle down, Greg," Dr. Parsons said sharply. "One of the possible side effects of trimizapam is a slight hormone imbalance, such that you might have higher testosterone levels than before starting the trial. It's nothing that isn't reversible. And that could definitely explain your irritability."

"I'm not irritable!" Greg growled, then caught himself. "Sorry, Dr. Parsons," he said, after a few deep breaths. "I shouldn't be yelling like that. But I'm really concerned. You might have a point with some of what you've said, but I'm really stressed, what with starting school and all these changes. Normally, I'm a good student, but I've been having trouble concentrating, and what if that carries over to my classes?"

"When the trial is over, you should see the side effects end," Dr. Parsons replied. "On the other hand, they might persist a little longer, due to lingering traces of trimizapam. If they do, you can tell your instructors to speak with me, and I'll try to help you. I'm not your enemy, Greg. Is that all for today?"

"No, um, there's one more thing." Greg blushed. "It's... um, it's related to that question on the questionnaire. You know, that one that I had to guess on?"

"Ah, yes," Dr. Parsons said, raising her eyebrows. "Do you have something to report on that?"

"Well, yesterday, I, um, received a stimulus to that... thing," Greg said. He wasn't about to specify that he'd seen Cecilia Parsons in a bikini, and that his dick had thought she was super hot. "So, I decided to go ahead and measure it." He definitely wasn't going to talk about how he'd kept himself erect while measuring his dick by imagining increasingly perverse things relating to Cecilia. "And, um, it turns out I was off by a few inches. Um, it was eight inches long."

"That's something," Dr. Parsons said. She scribbled down a note, possibly about the size of Greg's penis, then looked back up at him. "Well, keep taking your pills, and... oh, wait, I nearly forgot something." She sifted through a pile of papers, and pulled out one in particular. "On the questionnaire, you listed the doctor you treated as Dr. Suhail Khan. Do you know how to contact Dr. Khan?"

Greg shook his head. Dr. Parsons sighed. "I was afraid of that. You see, I found the information for his practice, but the woman who answered the phone said that he'd had surgery, and he wouldn't be at work until late next week. I was just hoping that you might have his personal contact information."

"Nope, I'm afraid not," Greg replied. "I couldn't even remember the address for his practice for certain. Normally, I would punch it in on the GPS."

"Thank you anyway," Dr. Parsons said. "It's mostly a formality, at any rate. He might have some data that I like to have as a bit of background, when I'm analyzing the results. It's not precisely necessary, but I prefer to have it."

"Okay," Greg said, deciding that there was nothing else to be said to that. He picked up his water bottle and left. If he ran back to his apartment, he might be able to take his pill and run back to the gym in time to put in some lifting time.

Day 9

It was Monday, the first day of classes. Greg definitely had at least one that he should be attending.

Instead, he was at the gym.

He'd gotten up at 5:30, done a quick 200 each of pushups and sit-ups, then taken a run. He'd done about 12 miles, gobbled down a quick breakfast at his apartment, and taken off shortly thereafter for the gym.

His brain kept reminding him that he needed to go to classes. That he was here for graduate school for the primary purpose of going to classes. That, as recently as nine days ago, he'd been very excited about the possibility of going to classes.

But he disregarded all of that nonsense. Classes were all boring. It was just a bunch of sitting around when he could be out exercising. He would've been squirming with boredom and irritation within minutes.

With a grunt, he finished bench pressing 220 pounds and returned the weight to its resting position. His spotter, some random guy with nowhere near Greg's muscles, blinked. Greg had no idea what the guy's name was. He'd just been hanging around, and Greg had roped him into being his spotter.

"That's all," he grunted, and walked away from the bench. The other guy called after him, but Greg paid no attention. He needed to find something else to do.

He pulled out his phone and found that he'd gotten a text while he was lifting. It was from Rosita, the chick he'd beaten at running a few days ago. "Want to race?" she had texted him just a few minutes ago.

"sure. first to stadium wins," he texted her back, and slipped his phone into his pocket. All he needed to get was his pill and water bottles. He popped the pill bottle open, poured out a single pill, took a drink of water, and swallowed the pill.

The moment the pill went down his throat, Greg felt even more energetic than before. He washed it down with another quick swallow of water. The pills went in a pocket, and he jogged out of the gym, and into the sunlight. It was the middle of the day, but he couldn't care less about anything but running.

By the time he reached the library, he'd picked up a good amount of speed. There was some little protest going outside, with a bunch of frumpy chicks in glasses waving signs. Greg gave them no more than a passing glance as he ran by. He just knew they would all be boring as hell.

Greg reached the Chemistry building, and spotted Rosita out of the corner of his eye. She was a good distance behind him, but he put on an extra burst of speed for good measure. If he was going to race her, he was going to win, because he was better than any chick.

From the sound of panting, Greg knew that she had gained on him, but she was unable to pass him. Every time she tried, he just ran a little faster, until she had to drop back. He didn't bother looking back. Chicks were never gonna beat Greg Wilson.

The two of them arrived at the stadium in rather different states. Greg was sweating, but not too much. Mostly, he was pumped up by his exercises. The glistening layer of sweat over his naked upper half actually made him look more attractive.

Rosita, on the other hand, was a mess. She didn't look like she'd been prepared for running. Her clothes were a normal pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Her sweatband was nowhere in evidence. And the run in the midday heat had given her plenty of sweat that could've been soaked up by a sweatband. Her hair was disheveled and all over the place.

"Wow, what the hell, Greg?" Rosita said, walking off the sudden run. "I'm gonna have so many cramps from that. When I texted you about racing again, I thought we could meet up tomorrow on the track. I didn't really think you'd want to do this right away!"

Greg ignored the chick's words. She seemed to think she could talk back to him, and that wasn't right. He was having trouble seeing straight, and the blood was still thundering through his head from the run. There was something he could do that would resolve both of his problems.

"Come on," he grunted to Rosita, and walked over to a locked door that led into a rear area of the stadium. She followed him over, squawking about something that couldn't possibly interest him. Greg grabbed the padlock that kept the door shut, and pulled it apart.

"Jesus, Greg!" Rosita squawked. "I was gonna open the lock anyway! Now how am I gonna explain this to my boss?"

"Don't know," Greg grunted. "Don't care. You wanna fuck."

"Well, I'm not sure this is..." Rosita began to temporize. Her talking turned into a squeal as Greg grabbed her and pulled her up against his bare chest. That had been a statement, not a question. Even in his current grunting state, Greg knew the difference between the two things.

They had stepped inside a dark room, and Rosita reached for one of the walls. She must've found what she was looking for, because the lights went on. It was a storage room, with a table going down the length of the room, and shelves on either side of Greg and Rosita.

Greg grunted and heaved his running buddy up onto the table. Ignoring her squeal of pain, he pulled down his gym shorts, revealing a massive erection that they'd been terrible at hiding. His cock was still about eight inches, but it was definitely more than it had been. He could vaguely remember a time of lonely masturbation, when his cock had not been so huge. That must've been a boring time.

Instead of jerking it, Greg ripped open Rosita's shorts. She protested, and he ignored her, just like usual. Taking them off the normal way was too time-consuming. He couldn't be bothered to care about what shape they'd been in after he tore them apart.

With Rosita's shorts floating away to the cotton clouds of short heaven, her pussy was out in the open, ripe for the taking. Apparently she didn't shave much, because there was an untidy bush of black hair between her legs. Greg curled his lip mentally. He thought he preferred girls with bald pussies, but he was so damn horny that he didn't really care.

He plunged his cock into her pussy, leaning in towards the table. She squealed, taken by surprise. Still, she was into it, leaning into his strokes, moaning in pleasure. Soon enough, they had built up a fantastic rhythm of fucking.

A small part of Greg's brain wondered how Rosita's pussy was even taking a part of his cock. It wasn't just longer than he remembered, it was wider, too. Somehow, though, he managed to impale Rosita on it, and she seemed to be having fun.

Greg felt Rosita bucking under his hands, and he could hear her moaning intensifying. That served as a signal for some dim corner of his brain, and Greg orgasmed. He came in Rosita's pussy, as hard as he could. Streams of cum gushed out of his cock, flooding her pussy with white goo. Around the edges of her pussy, cum started leaking out, onto the table.

At last, his orgasm petered out, and he withdrew from Rosita. She was even more disheveled now, and her thighs were streaked with cum. "Oh, wow," she said dazedly. "Wow. That was so wild. And hot. Oh, wow."

"You wanna suck my cock now," he said, and she sat up, looking quizzically at him.

"I dunnoh that I do," she replied, looking around for her shorts. They were in pieces all over the floor, so that didn't do her much good. She tried to stand up, but her legs wobbled from how hard Greg had fucked her.

"Ok, how about this," she said, sitting back down on the table. Her ass squelched into a pool of cum. "I've got a locker in here with a change of clothes. But apparently I'll have trouble walking there myself. Carry me there, because you can so obviously do that, and I'll suck your dick."

"Deal," Greg grunted, and picked up Rosita with barely any effort. She wasn't a big girl by any stretch of the imagination, but she did weigh at least 130 pounds. For him, that was an easy lift.

Now that she was in his arms, he heaved her over his shoulder. She squawked at being suddenly put in such an awkward position. As compensation, he began rubbing one of his thick fingers along her pussy, and felt her shudder in response. It was sticky with his own cum and her juices, but he didn't care about that. She deserved a bit more pleasure.

"Oooh, take a right," she said, then moaned as he hit her rock-hard clit again. The stadium was a maze of confusing hallways and tunnels, some of which led to dank, disgusting crapholes. Greg needed help avoiding those. He wasn't terribly good at thinking, just fucking and exercising.

"Here we aaaaaaaaaah!" Rosita said, her voice squeaking higher and higher as she orgasmed in Greg's arms. There was a locker room to Greg's right, so he went inside. His fucking buddy nodded, momentarily rendered speechless by the power of her orgasm.

Greg set her down on a bench, and Rosita grinned tiredly. "You got me here, and gave me an orgasm," she said. "I guess you've earned that blowjob." She got down on her knees, even though the floor seemed a little disgusting. Greg's cock was already at full mast, so all Rosita had to do was open her mouth wide and take it.

Obviously, she would be hard pressed to fit all of him in her mouth. Still, she only seemed willing to take on his tip. That wouldn't do at all. Greg grabbed her head and thrust it further on, ignoring her muffled squawk. Her mouth went about halfway down his cock before the tip struck the back of her throat. He tried to get her to deepthroat it, but she gagged a bunch, which was extremely unappealing.

Strictly speaking, a blowjob probably wasn't necessary. Greg had already been erect, so he probably could've just jacked it a little while, and gotten about the same results. But he liked the feeling of Rosita's wet mouth around his cock, her tongue stimulating him even further.

The only warning Rosita got was a cryptic grunt. A nanosecond later, streams of cum erupted from Greg's cock. Her eyes widened as the cum flooded her mouth and began dripping out of it.

She pulled off of his cock in alarm, which turned out to be a mistake. Greg's cock was far from finished, and it kept spurting giant strings of cum at her face. Pretty soon, her pretty little face was white all over, so much so that her eyelashes were all that stood out.

"Holy shit, man!" Rosita finally managed to say. She'd needed to spit out a bunch of cum, and wipe away some more. "What the hell? Are you made of cum or something? Now I'm probably gonna have to take a shower, too!"

Greg grunted. "Sorry," he said. He was not sorry. That had been the best.

While he watched mutely, Rosita changed, and wiped away all of the cum. She made a vague protest about him seeing her naked, which was silly. He'd just fucked her twice, not to mention fingering her to an orgasm. There was really no reason he couldn't see her totally naked, and they both knew it.

As they left the stadium by the same door they'd come in, Rosita shook her head. "I'm still gonna have to explain to my boss how that lock got broken." She looked accusingly at Greg, who just shrugged his shoulders. That wasn't his problem.

"Hey, wanna come back to my place?" Greg said, pulling her in closer. "We can fuck some more."

"I'd love to, Greg," Rosita replied, wriggling out of his grasp. "And I probably will. But I've got a class pretty soon. Don't you have classes?"

He shrugged. Classes didn't matter. She went on talking, "So maybe I'll come over later. And, you know, I could bring a friend. My roommate Clarice is kind of a perv, so she'd probably like a threesome. That sound good?"